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Open Poetry #50
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Inner-City, November, Late
| Open Poetry #50 |
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Inner-City, November, Late |
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jwesley Member Rara Avis
since 2000-04-30
Posts 7563Spring, Texas 
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Inner-City, November, Late The child lay cuddled against the warmth of it's mother, and the mother grew cool, then was warm no longer. The child took chill, shivered, grew cold, and died, and there was nothing left, but the cold, the cold, the cold. . . . wesley james beard, jr. |
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| © Copyright 2017 Wesley James Beard, Jr. - All Rights Reserved | |||
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novemberblue Junior Member Posts 11 Dirty South |
This haunts. What an aching end, sir. Heather "Can you see the real me?" Pete Townshend |
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Alison 
since 2008-01-27
Posts 9318Lumpy oatmeal makes me crazy! |
This one slammed my heart. Just slammed it. Alison |
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2islander2 Member Ascendant
since 2008-03-12
Posts 6825by the sea |
how important, essential, is the mother, your poem has a great and chilly impact indeed, it is "great" yann |
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Lori Grosser Rhoden Member Patricius
since 2009-10-10
Posts 10202Fair to middlin' of nowhere |
I thought I commented when I first read this, but apparently not. Looks like you got into your bag of writing tools and pulled out a big heart wrench. Excellent job affixing a terrible truth to our minds. ~L |
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jjote Senior Member
since 2002-12-25
Posts 1088Ontario, Canada |
you have captured such sadness that strikes achingly deep |
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Poet In Pink Senior Member Posts 1066 MI |
Hello J  Such a sad and heart-wrenching depiction ~ The worst part is it happens more than we'll ever know ~ Alana |
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